Legacy
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Regardless of whether they live or die, yautja will recieve glory upon completion of the Hunt. Or at least they would, if their 'ooman prey hadn't found a way to circumvent that...


**Legacy**

It was over. They'd won.

Somehow, despite bleeding from uncountable caseless bullets, despite having been unmasked, despite being surrounded by at least a dozen "soft meat," Ossoona felt...nothing. No regret, no frustration, certainly no pity for either himself or the stinger-wielding 'oomans that surrounded him. A yautja, a _hunter _was above such things. He had culled the herd, had taken his trophies and left his mark upon this world the stunted apes had claimed for themselves. All that he had to do now was wait for death, to live on in the dreams of his own people and the nightmares of the prey.

It was _glorious_.

"I'd ask if you wanted to surrender," the leader of the 'oomans snarled at him," levelling his primitive firearm at the hunter. "But I think that would be spitting on the memories of your victims. You never gave _them _a chance to surrender after all."

"Don't treat this like war, soft meat," the yautja spat at the armoured 'ooman, or "Colonial Marine" if he sought to name them by occupation. "I have obeyed the rules of the hunt and merely thinned the herd."

One of the soldiers stepped forward, muttering something about shoving his rifle up Ossonna's...well, some part of his body, but the leader of the primitives stopped him. Despite the pain, the yautja grinned. Even now, the prey was afraid of him.

"I do not expect mercy and ask for none," said the hunter defiantly, thankful that his in-built translator prevented him from speaking the language of the weaklings. "Go on and finish me, soft meat, I have carved my legacy out on your world. The name of Ossoona will live on in eternity. In legend, then myth and beyond!"

One of the marines stepped forward. "Don't worry you piece of alien filth, your name will live on. A name of a petty murderer who killed dozens before he was brought down."

"That's right," snarled another soft meat. "There's still one more body left to bury."

Odd. Ossoona had left his pray hanging in the trees of this world, skinned as per his people's hunting rituals. If the 'oomans were stupid enough to bury their own kind while a yautja (or "Predator" as they called his kind, as if they had a right to) was on the loose, maybe there were still weak left in the herd after all. Perhaps he'd have done their species a favour by living long enough to hunt down all of them, to remove stupidity from their gene pool.

_Fat chance of that._

"Go on then," snarled the yautja, closing his eyes as he awaited oblivion's embrace. "Finish me."

Silence. He could feel the wind, smell the 'oomans' repulsive scent and even taste particulates that the wind was carrying, but could hear...nothing. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Osoona could hear the marines' heavy breathing, but the sound that he wanted to hear, namely his parting eulogy that would be a hail of gunfire, was non-existent. And when a new sound finally arrived, it was about as far away from the song of execution as was possible.

The 'ooman leader was _laughing_.

"You think we're going to kill you?" the primitive asked. "What good will that do? Capital punishment isn't a deterrent. No, crime only stops when there's _actual_ punishment."

"I am not subject to your system of law," Osoona rasped, beginning to let the loss of blood get to him. "Finish me now and be done with it!"

"You are subject to our law," the marine whispered. "This is a human world and as you said before, this isn't war. No, what you have carried out here is _murder_, a result of some sick, twisted desire to go out in a blaze of glory."

Ossoona tried to respond but couldn't. Despite the marine kneeling down and applying some kind of sedative, he couldn't do anything.

"We've got a punishment for you," the soft meat whispered. "You know what it is?"

Osoona couldn't answer. Unconsciousness tended to have that effect. All he could do was listen. Listen to the 'ooman's words, revealing the worst fate of all...

"Ignominy."


End file.
